Self Communion (Anne Bronte Poem)
'The mist is resting on the hill; The smoke is hanging in the air; The very clouds are standing still: ...
'The mist is resting on the hill; The smoke is hanging in the air; The very clouds are standing still: ...
A fine and subtle spirit dwells In every little flower, Each one its own sweet feeling breathes With more or ...
I. THE GARDEN. ABOVE the city hung the moon, Right o'er a plot of ground Where flowers and orchard-trees were ...
BUT two miles more, and then we rest ! Well, there is still an hour of day, And long the ...
Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine Too brightly to shine long; another Spring Shall deck her for ...
As he said vanity, so vain say I, Oh! Vanity, O vain all under sky; Where is the man can ...
As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer, Scuds through the woods and fern with hark'ning ear, Perplext, in every ...
ADVERTISEMENT "The grand army of the Turks, (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into ...
LARA. CANTO THE FIRST. I. The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, And slavery half forgets her ...
I. You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his ...
DEAR SMITH, the slee'st, pawkie thief, That e'er attempted stealth or rief! Ye surely hae some warlock-brief Owre human hearts; ...
A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' ...
MY lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish ...
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
STILL anxious to secure your partial favour, And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, A Prologue, Epilogue, or ...
THE SUN he is sunk in the west, All creatures retir?d to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset, ...
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the ...
NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, ...
1. In terrors Los shrunk from his task: His great hammer fell from his hand: His fires beheld, and sickening, ...
I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories